Results tagged “Father Panik Industries”
On Tuesday, July 31st, Elixirs and Eats presents Inks, Drinks & Hi-jinks! - a celebration of indie spirits, hot sauce, The Blues and tattoos here in NYC!
The price of admission will get you unlimited tastings from distilleries like Tito's Vodka, Scorpion Mezcal and Philadelphia Distilling (amongst many others); food and hot sauces from Scoville peddlers like Jimmy's No 43 and High River Sauces; live music; and most importantly, a food-related tattoo competition, MC'd by yours truly and judged by an esteemed panel, including our own Editrix-in-Chief.
So, if you have a food/booze/cooking-related tattoo and you're interested in competing, send your info and a photo to email@example.com - not ONLY do you get to waive the admission fee if you're selected to compete, but you also have the chance to win prizes from Jarlsberg, Sailor Jerry and Father Panik Industries!
(Additionally, if you can't attend the event, you can always send us your food/booze/cooking related tattoo and we'll feature the best in a special blog post! Please include your name, the artist's name and shop when submitting to us.)
More information about the event can be found here and you can order your tickets online over here.
["Mad Chef" tattoo by Gunnar]
Our friends at Father Panik Industries have clothed and bejeweled me for over a decade with their hand crafted badassery, and every year they keep coming up with more designs to put on my wish list.
The latest in their jewelry collection is this anatomical skull pendant in antiqued brass with 18" chain. [The skull measures 5/8"x1/2"x7/16" (17mm x 12mm x 10mm).] According the the Panik peeps, "The skull spins around slowly as you move, so you get to enjoy the skull 360 degrees. The wax model for this was carefully hand carved after studying human skull anatomy, then cast in brass in NYC. Each one is hand polished, antiqued and assembled here in Brooklyn USA." The brass pendant sells for $48 and you can also purchase it in sterling silver for $116.
Also be sure to check out their long standing favorites like the knuckle tattoo gloves (which I'm modelling here), their brass knuckle rosaries, and their towels, tees and hoodies, among others.
You can also find Father Panik online at Etsy. To catch them in person, check their events listings, which include NYC independent artist markets as well as tattoo conventions throughout the US, throughout the year.
In December, we wrote about the release and exhibition of Tatted: A Documentation of Self Expression the Most Permanent Ways. Father Panik got the book and offers his thoughts.
Guest review by Father Panik:
I'm here to tell you what the problem with tattoos is. It's OK, I don't mind.
Too much damn thinking. That's the problem with tattoos today.
Like when you watch those tattoo reality shows. All the tattoos start with the artist asking "So what does this tattoo mean?" which is bullshit in the first place because those guys really don't give a shit what your tattoos mean. They're not therapists or dream interpreters or whatever. Besides, all we ever hear are tales of woe. It's like there's a country song behind every tattoo. In order to get a tattoo today you need to have some deep story to back it up. It gets all wrapped up in convoluted symbols, fancy script and general all around jerking off.
We need to stop forcing ourselves to be deep thinkers. That's how you end up with NBA quality or minor Hollywood celeb tattoos. Garbled deep/stoopid quotations that don't make no sense. People are working too damn hard to squeeze something out of the sphincter between the ears.
Now take Philly. Philly is a good tattoo town. Your average tattoo fan in Philly knows we're all kind of thick skulled. They take pride in it. Philly is to tattoos what Papst is to beer. Trailer park porn stars.
Tatted, published by Grit City Inc, gets it. Photographed by Marlanne Bernstein in Philadelphia, it's a large coffee table-style book filled with fantastic, deceptively simple photos of tattooed locals. A small, hand written, one-page note where they write about their tattoo, accompanies each photo of a person and their tattoo. Not a lot of room for over-analysis or deep thinking. We get lots of spontaneous wise-assness, accidental ballpoint haikus, misspellings and attitude.
You get the feeling those being photographed kind of resented being given homework. What you have are average people with average tattoos and it's beautiful. A rare honesty is conveyed through the photos and notes. The cover blurb says, "Stunning photographs and simple hand written notes." That's pretty much it.
The first 30 pages or so are filled with interviews with tattoo artists and writers. I don't know, I just sort of skimmed through that part. Like I said: Too much thinking.
I like to look at pictures.
You can purchase Tatted for $20 from Grit City here.
On Twitter now is Father Panik, tweeting about the Baltimore Tattoo Convention taking place this weekend; however, it seems there hasn't been much to report from the convention floor, with a blizzard keeping many away.
But the show must go on as Father Panik says in 140 characters or less:
"Baltimore tattoo convention. Blood and snow. Half ass blizzard shutting down the city. Convention goes on. Carneys in charge."
Our intrepid reporter Father Panik (yes, of Father Panik Industries) went to the Star of Texas
tattoo convention in Austin last weekend and came back with the story. Kinda.
Also check more photos from the show on Flickr.
By Father Panik
We are here to celebrate art.
I think of that as a shitfaced "artist" in the booth next to me waves a buck knife around.
He's upset at not having won a tattoo contest.
He's already won a couple of contests this weekend. The trophies placed with pride at the center of his table for everybody to see.
But this one, this one he didn't win.
Not because the other tattoo artist on this day created a better tattoo.
Listen and he will explain. Beer in one hand, knife in the other.
He didn't win because the system is fucked. The judges are fucked. The winning artist is a pile of shit. It was ineptitude on the part of the the event organizers that created this colossal foul up.
The "artist", the one with the knife, is going to correct it.
"Imma cut that shit off his arm and wipe my ass with it," he announces to the cluster of suburban hillbillies gathered around him. They agree that this is a correct course of action. Never mind that he won two other contests. An injustice is afoot. A wrong needs to be right. A tattoo must be cut off and wiped across an ass.
This is where I work.
I make stuff, go on the road with tattoo conventions and try to sell it.
Father Panik Industries. Purveyor of fine clothes, jewelry and accessories.
This is another day at a tattoo convention. We've been celebrating art for three days now and I'm about to snap. I'm wondering if I have anything in my booth to fight with. A chair, a pipe, anything in case the dude focuses his attention on me.
While this goes on I try to sell my cute hand towels to a woman interested in my wares.
I speak up to drown out the indignant redneck.
"Imma rub my one good nut on his face" is countered with "It's made from high quality Egyptian cotton".
And the thing is, the Austin Texas Tattoo Art Revival is a good convention.
The quality of the art, the promotion, above average intelligence of the local attendees, all good. Folks not afraid to spend a couple of bucks, nice space, first rate hotel. This is as good as we've seen in a long time. Quality tattoos are cranked out at a remarkable pace. Even the trophies are amazing. Each handmade by Tom Molkenthen with a outsider art flair.
Motherfucker is waving a knife, talking crazy shit and somehow, it's normal.
Does this happen at your job?
I need to know. I've been in this all-sideshow, no circus environment for a very long time so it's hard to get a firm idea on what is and is not acceptable behavior.
A couple approaches. A woman is interested the cotton shorts we offer.
She wants to check them out and asks her guy to hold her beer along with his.
He stares at her. Aghast.
She glares at him until he takes the beer muttering "you better watch yourself".
She holds a pair up to him and asks what he thinks of them.
"Your ass won't fit in those. You got an extra large ass".
She kills him with her eyes.
"How much?" she asks me.
The boyfriend snorts "ripoff"
I mentioned that I'm on edge right?
I make this stuff. Each item is designed by me and Mika. Each piece represents our hearts our passions, our social political and religious ideals. Childhood pain, cultural clashes. This is not some mass produced shiny derivative made in China crap with a 13 and a horse shoe that you get at Hot Topic.
I made it, flew cross country in two airplanes set up a booth and laid it out all nice and neat.
This is how I put food on my table.
The fucking Affliction wearing herd animal calls it a ripoff?
He insults everything Father Panik is about.
"What? What did you say?" I say, leaning in to him. My eyes lock onto his.
The woman is smarter than me and him. She gets her beer from him saying let me think about it and walks away. Not looking at me, head down, he says "nothing" and follows her.
Normally when our editrix Marisa sends me out to conventions to get the story I get the story. But me wandering off with a camera really pisses off Mika. I'm the pretty face of the company. It's my job to interact with the customers. She's forbid me to roam. She don't care about finding a higher truth, about getting the story, about my craft, my writing. She glares at me and hisses "sellsellsell" so I just stay in the booth and take notes.
And here they are. That's it. All my notes. Steers and Queers.
Underground outfitters, Father Panik Industries, have clothed and bedazzled me for years (and yeah, fancier people), transforming my closet from Banana Republic to (literally) Badass.
And so, it is with great joy that I introduce them as our newest advertiser (and not just because I'm finally getting my money back from them).
Last month, I included them in our gift guide (see here), particularly for their Knuckle Tattoo Gloves with the thumb-flap for winter texting. Coupled with their long-lasting hoodies (which fits nicely under my coat without being bulky), my winter outerwear is more swagga and less sherpa.
Please support Father Panik and our other advertisers because they help keep this site running as well as allow us to put on art shows and hand out free swag at parties and conventions, all free to you.
Madonna has Gaultier. Sharon Stone has Calvin Klein. Me...I have Father Panik Industries.
Celebs like Margaret Cho, The Van Zandts, and Dee Snider may model their wares on red carpets, but whose tattooed sleeves are modeling their Knuckle Tattoo Gloves online?
Who wears their hoodies, tees, shorts with the same aplomb, aplomb I say, as Anna Wintour wears dead animals?
And that gold Bad Ass nameplate? Who's tattooed cleavage has been photographed numerous times with that baby on?
And yet, Father Panik Industries has yet to officially declare me as their fashion muse. Oh, they do have rare moments where they woo me. A text saying they'd like to offer me a free manicure. But in the end they just want my stubby fingers to fill out their latest gloves with the thumb holes for texting
A girl's gotta play hard to get.
Or a girl can be totally shameless and tell you to shop the Father Panik Store Online or find them at fairs like the fabulous Gifted Market in Manhattan. If you do stop by their booth, tell them "their muse" sent ya. Maybe it'll work for me.